


The Best Gift of All

by Apieceofurmind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Steve Rogers, Pining, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apieceofurmind/pseuds/Apieceofurmind
Summary: For four years, on the 4th of July, Bucky Barnes sends Steve Rogers a gift.





	The Best Gift of All

JULY 4TH, 2015

It is a warm morning in DC. The sun's out, bright and warm and the birds are putting an extra effort into their chirping. The grass beneath his feet is lush green and soft to the touch. As he looks up at the sky, he's greeted by the sight of a clear, blue sky. The sky reflects in his blue eyes, making them a little brighter, a little more lively. The park has come alive in the last hour or so. Kids are out and playing, some on the swings or the slides, others running around and chasing each other. He watches them with longing, hoping against hope that he could become one of them. People have already started splaying out their picnic baskets and water pitchers. Some go as far as to bring their own umbrellas, while others decide to bear it all in the sun. There are dogs running free, enjoying the sun on their skin just as much as he is. Some of them come over to sniff at him, lift their heads for him to pet, while others steer clear. He doesn't mind either, it's for the best that nobody recognises him. When the crowd gets too much, he heads back to his apartment. He never calls it home, because it isn't. Not without 'him' at least. But he knows he's never coming, he wouldn't because he probably doesn't want to either. 

The staircase that leads to his apartment is creaky and bare wood. Every footstep resounds with a heavy thud and every movement invites shaky trembling. He doesn't grab the railing on the sides, in fear that they might snap if he touched them. That's a precaution he should take in his life too; steer clear of people so he doesn't snap their lives in half. He can name atleast five names of the top of his head that would have been better off without him. Especially 'him'. He would've been so much better off without him.

There's a package lying in front of his door. Neatly wrapped in wrapping paper and even has a bow on top. He approaches it carefully, looking to the sides to see if anyone's waiting to ambush him. He's paranoid and anxious, work hazards, and his first instinct is to move apartments again. Someone knows where he lives and that's dangerous for him. Dangerous for everyone living around him. 

He crouches beside the gift and examines it from near. There's a note stuck to the bow, the handwriting on it neat and beautiful, calligraphic to be precise. And it's not the beauty of it that brings a smile to his face, it's from whom the note is.

He picks up the gift, cradles it close to his chest and sighs deeply. He's never been so happy since he woke up in the 21st century. His heart feels heavy and light at the same time, while his mind is overcome with nostalgia. He doesn't know if the tears running down his eyes are of happiness or grief, but he doesn't care or mind. He's floating and drowning at the same time but it's euphoric and electrifying. 

'He' remembers him. 

Once he enters his apartment, he moves straight into his bedroom. He places the gift on the bed and carefully unwraps it. The crinkling of the wrapping paper is the only sound in his apartment and it is a gore reminder of the lonely life he leads. He shakes his head to clear the tears that blind him and concentrates on carefully removing the wrapping, so as to not tear them. 

Once he unwraps them, he can't believe his eyes. It's such a simple gift but he can't hold back the tears. It's like a dam opening, water gushing out forcefully and quickly. He sobs into his hands, makes pained noises and doesn't try to hold back whatever it is that he's feeling. Because this life has not been fair to him and it's still not getting any better. He deserves better and so does his best friend. But life's a bitch and both their lives are a long standing testimony to it. 

He picks up the box of colour pencils, the expensive kind that he could've never been able to afford in the 20th century, and lovingly places them on his bedside table. He rubs his fingers over the box, again and again, convinced that they'll soon disappear and he'll be left with nothing but the cold reminder of this daydream of his. The thought is scary but so is his life. 

As he goes to enter the bathroom, he glances at the note again. He smiles, more so at the person who wrote them than the words that were written. When the longing gets too much, he leans down and kisses the signature at the bottom. The pain dulls a little, his heart beats a little faster and his eyes fill just a little. But it's okay, because his friend is safe and okay somewhere, somewhere very close.

Hey Steve,

Happy birthday pal. The nation is celebrating your birthday again. It's bathed in those colours you like so much and people are happy and excited. Best birthday gift to you, isn't it? I would apologize for everything I've done but a simple sorry won't suffice. Maybe one day, I'll apologize to you face to face, but that day isn't today. Got you a little something, hope you like it. Sorry it's not that great but I believe it's meaningful.  Happy birthday again Steve. Remember those fireworks are for you, they're celebrating you. 

With regards,  
Bucky Barnes. 

PS: hopefully you haven't called the bomb squad to check the mysterious package on your doorstep, 'cause that'll be hilarious. 

***

JULY 4TH, 2016

He tries not to get his hopes up but it's difficult to do so. He really hopes that his best friend sends him something again, that he remembers him. He won't admit it to himself but the gift is also reassurance that Bucky is safe and secure. That he's not in any sort of trouble and also in a state of mind to remember him and his birthday. 

The month of March had come and gone and he had been to church  on the 10th. It was their tradition, a visit to the church on both the 10th of March and on the 4th of July. He'd not followed it up on all these years but this year was special and it deserved something special. He would've sent Bucky a gift, gone to visit him or just invited him to the church, but he has no clue where Bucky was or if he was still living in DC. And so he celebrated the birth of Bucky Barnes alone, without the fireworks of a whole nation. 

Morning came and went, the afternoon sun shone bright in his living room. He hadn't left his house the whole day, secretly hoping to at least see or even hear Bucky when- if he came to deliver something to him. But there was no movement outside the doors, no body came and nobody stopped at his door. Dejected and frankly heart broken, he decided to leave and attend the party Tony was throwing him. He still had time, Tony's parties never started before at least midnight, so he decided to visit the Smithsonian and spend some time with Bucky's memories, with their memories. 

Hours passed before he got back, having been completely immersed in the great things they had to say about Bucky Barnes the hero. He forgot all about the troubles with SHIELD, the impending doom on the world, the heavy shield he carried and the weight of his responsibilities. He forgot about Hydra, about Tony's party and about his own shortcomings as a friend. All he could remember, see and think was Bucky. Not the Bucky he'd seen a couple of years back, but the Bucky he'd grown up with. The one with the slicked back hair and killer smile. The one with the charm and the swag. The Bucky who got all the girls. The Bucky who had taken him under his wing and promised to protect him. The Bucky who died watching his six. Those golden hours, he spends with the Bucky Barnes who gave his life for the country, a martyr and hero. 

By the time he's back, there's a package waiting for him at his doorstep. Before he can stop himself, he's crying. Tears stream down his face, over the bridge of his nose and under his chin. He's so goddamn happy, so relieved and so not alone. He hurriedly wipes his face and looks around in hopes to see Bucky hiding somewhere, watching him, seeing how happy he makes him. He knows that Bucky's got an eye on him, he knows when he goes out and when he comes back and that knowledge makes him feel so safe. Bucky's watching him, he's watching his six like always, looking out for his punk cause he knows the punk can't do it alone. He's never been able to look out for himself.

He picks up the package, looks around again and smiles wide. If Bucky's watching, he can see the smile and know that he's been waiting for this, been waiting for him. 

"Thank you Buck."

He shouts, standing at his doorstep and looking around. To anybody around, he seems mad, but he knows to Bucky, he's just being himself. And Sarah has taught him that it's rude to not thank people when they give him something, even if it's their jerk of a friend. 

He hurries inside and this time doesn't even wait to reach his bedroom. He sits down on the couch and hurriedly tears open the wrapping. He really means to take his time, but it's Bucky's gift and he has zero chill where Bucky's concerned. Universe is a witness.

Inside, is a small diary. Steve stares at the book in wonder, cause clearly it's Bucky's. There's no other way about it. It's not new, and the pages have been flipped enough times for it to have worn soft. He rubs the cover lightly, appreciates the feel of the soft  leather cover beneath his palm and inhales it's unique scent. It's a feeling, and a ghost one at that, but he swears he can smell a bit of Bucky on the cover. The dark, musk of his best friend. 

He opens the book, smiles through his tears at the message inside and starts flipping slowly. He thinks it's a book for him to sketch on, like the one Bucky gifted him on his 13th birthday, but this one's so very different, so much better. 

Each page, he realises, is a memory. Precisely, Bucky's memory. He's regaining his memories, he's starting to remember. He starts tearing up at the knowledge, and desperately wishes he was there with him. But he tries to be content with this arrangement of theirs, however short but so goddamn sweet. 

First page has a photo of their old apartment building, or more precisely what's become of it now. In its place stands a small eatery, the one that looks even more run down than their rickety building. This is exactly what Bucky's footnote reads too. Steve laughs at this, wipes his nose on his palm and continues.

Second page is the place their old park stood. Now it's been renovated, new rides and even some benches have been put there. In the photograph, there are some kids running around and playing.  
' Remember when this was us? ', reads Bucky's footnote. 

Third page holds the photo of his exhibit at the Smithsonian. Bucky has also placed a pamphlet with his mug on the front in the diary. He laughs wetly at the photo. ' Always so extra. Captain show-off.'. Okay so maybe he's a little extra. Well sue him for looking so good and  trying a little. 

Fourth one is of the graveyard where Steve's mom lies. Parents in reality, but Steve's never known his dad and neither has Bucky. So it's a photo of Sarah's tombstone. ' Mom's still watching over us Steve. She's always looking out for us'. Steve's eyes water on their own accord. Bucky remembers Sarah, remembers that he's always called her mom and not Mrs Rogers. He remembers where she's buried, where she lives for the rest of eternity. He wipes a stray tear away and continues through the book. 

Page five is Coney island. Precisely of the cyclone. It's the centre piece of the photograph, stands tall and proud to this day. He runs his fingers over the photograph, longing deep in his heart to just go back there, to go back to 1930s. ' Remember when I made you ride the cyclone at Coney island and you threw up?'  This footnote breaks a piece of his heart. Memories of the Alps and Bucky's fall plague his mind and push aside thoughts and memories of their childhood. Bucky's last words other than his blood curling scream. The words that haunt his sleep.

Bucky is safe. Bucky is alive. Bucky is recovering. Bucky will soon become himself. He repeated this to himself, over and over again till he begins to believe it. He closes his eyes, gives himself a second to recover before flipping the next page. 

He doesn't recognise the place in the photo. It's a regular building, must be somewhere in central Brooklyn. Whatever once stood there in 1940s has been demolished and some bank now has the space. He tries to recall the place but drawing a blank, turns to look at Bucky's footnote. 

' I know you don't recognise this place. I don't expect you to. But this, this place right here, is the  most important one to me. This used to be a bar in our days; they've demolished it and made it a bank. You were down with pneumonia and the doctor said you wouldn't make it. I was so worried Stevie; I couldn't imagine life without you. It was somewhere after my third drink that I realised that I love you. Took me a life threatening disease and three drinks to realise I was in love with my best lad. This place is where I realised my one true love Stevie. It's that important to me.'

His world stopped spinning, his heart stopped beating. He read it again and again, till he knew them by heart. All this time, he'd thought he was the only one. All this time he'd believed he was cheating Bucky's friendship. All this time he'd thought he was exploiting Bucky's good faith. But Lord, Bucky loved him too. He was crying tears of joy and of love, of pain and of adoration, of passion and compassion. 

He read Bucky's note again, the one written at the beginning of the diary and it made things so much clearer, so much brighter. They were two souls intertwined in love.

Hey Steve,  
Happy birthday punk. It's 98 this year, real fossil. You're getting really old so take care of yourself. 

There are things I ought to say to you. Truths I must reveal. Who you thought I was, I am not, but who I strive to be, I cannot achieve. You saw me as an ideal man Steve and I promise you I worked hard to be that man. But some things were beyond me and others I simply couldn't being myself to do. The 21st century tells me I'm no less of a man for the things I feel. They tell me that I'm allowed to be who I am and that it's not wrong. It's a liberating feeling Steve, but one I feel might make me lose you. 

If that's what happens, if this is the end of our correspondence, then I have only one thing to say to you. Be who you are Steve. Never change and especially not for those men you call sir or for the society. I'm done trying to change myself. I'm done trying to be somebody else.

As for you, stay old and grumpy, and in case of any emergencies call 911. And if you need a walker or plastic teeth, tell Tony immediately. 

Happy birthday again Stevie. Hope to speak to you soon. 

Lots of love,  
Bucky Barnes. 

***

JULY 4TH, 2017

He is up and out of the house early in the morning, giving Bucky a wide window to leave his present and make an exit. He wanders along the markets, stops at a Starbucks and shops for some new clothes. SHIELD is up and running again and it eases a lot of tension off his chest. There's been peace for the last eight months and in that duration SHIELD has managed to put in place a taskforce good enough to handle code reds. 

He wanders around Target, does some grocery shopping and even stops at Sam's place on the way back. Sam rambles on and on about redwing and how beautiful she is and how no man could control her, but midway through the conversation he zones out and starts thinking about Bucky and his yearly gifts. 

He'd been thinking about Bucky the whole day, the shirts that would suit him, the restaurants he would like, the kind of music he'd be into, the dishes he would love. He thinks about Bucky cooking breakfast in their kitchen, Bucky singing him to sleep and of Bucky being a fierce cuddler. 

When Sam finishes, an hour or two later, he leaves him and starts his journey back home. He takes each step faster than the last, an unprecedented hurry in his steps. He's got a good feeling about something. He knows Bucky's gonna leave a present for him and he knows a note will accompany the present but that doesn't explain the thudding of his heart, his accelerated breathing or the premonition of something great. 

As he reaches the building, he slows down. He's hoping again. He's building a kingdom on fantasies and daydreams. He's got his life planned out in such a way that dreams are the only chance at getting to live them. He takes a deep breath, wills himself to slow down and takes measured steps up the stairs. 

"Goddamnit Rogers. I've aged atleast a decade since I got here."

He freezes at the sound, at the man who utters them. It can't be true, he must be delusional or crazy 'cause there is no way in hell or heaven that Bucky Barnes is standing at his doorstep, twinkle in his eye and flowers in his hand. He shakes his head vehemently and wills Bucky to disappear before he believes the sight before him. But Bucky doesn't disappear, instead his expression turns to one of empathy. He moves forward and comes to stand in front of him.

"It's not a dream Stevie. I'm right here. Flesh and blood."

And he breaks down crying. Bucky came home. Bucky had finally returned. After days, months and tears of yearning and longing Bucky had finally come home. As the tears rolled down his cheeks, he found himself in Bucky's embrace. The cold tears were a stark contrast to the warmth of Bucky's embrace, of his love and of his longing. 

"I missed you so much Buck. So much."

As he sobbed, Bucky rubbed soothing circles on his back. He shushed him gently and pulled back to cup his face in his large hands.

"I know Stevie. I missed you too. I missed you so much, you can't begin to imagine the pain it caused me."

"Then why didn't you return sooner? Why did you stay away? You knew where I lived. You always have a home here."

Bucky didn't say anything, just leaned in and kissed his forehead. Goosebumps rose along his pale skin and the part where Bucky's lips touched his skin burned. He leaned closer, pulled himself tighter into the embrace, till Bucky wrapped his arms back around him. 

"What you wrote last time, did you mean it?"

"Every word of it."

And that was all the confirmation he needed. He pulled back from the embrace and pulled Bucky into a long, passionate kiss. There was too much tongue and way too many teeth, but neither of them cared. It was not a kiss to them, it was a promise, a homecoming. It was the personification of passion aged a hundred years, of love that withstood a thousand setbacks. It was the coming together of two hearts, who'd beaten for the other so long, that they were often mistaken for the other. It was the coming together of two men, who'd loved each other so long, love was synonymous with them. 

"Please stay Buck. Please don't go."

"I won't Steve. Never."

***

JULY 4TH, 2018

They decided not to break tradition. By ten in the morning, Bucky had already kicked him out of the house with a stern word to not get in trouble and to come back home safely. He nodded but deep down crossed his fingers. He can't help getting in trouble. After all he did not choose the punk life, the punk life chose him. 

He roams around the streets, window shops a little and decides that the next time he steps out, he's getting a dog. He walks some, gallops a little and even joins a little girl in skipping. He's got a skip in his step that was never there and a smile on his face that's a mile wide. A year back, he could've decided what he wanted to do with his time easily, but now his life is so intertwined with Bucky's, that doing something without him by his side is unimaginable. And so he doesn't. He walks till he can't anymore and then decides to head home at noon. 

When he enters the apartment, panic grips him. All the lights are switched off and the curtains are pulled shut. There is an unnatural darkness in the living room and it makes his fight instincts kick in. 

"Bucky." He calls out, hoping against all odds that Bucky answers back. "Bucky you in there?"

No answer comes and so Steve switched on the lights immediately. On their coffee table rests a black velvet box, too small but big enough to make Steve's eyes water again. He knows what that is, he knows that it's the best gift he could've ever asked for. He picks it up and opens it, gasping softly at the beautiful silver band that rests inside. 

' Till the end of the line.'

He reads the inscription with tear filled blurry eyes and smiles. Of course Bucky went full cliché. He turned around when he heard footsteps and smiled shyly when Bucky burned a bright red. 

"I wanted to do something more romantic but I think simple suits us more. What do you think?"

"Maybe simple could be our forever?"

They both laughed at the reference, smiled shyly when they met each other's eyes. Bucky stepped forward, took the box from Steve and kneeled down on one knee.

"Stevie, I love you. I love you so much, it scares me sometimes. I have loved you for so long that it's a part of me now. Without the love I feel for you, I'm incomplete, not myself. There was a time I believed I was sinning, that I was destined for hell. But loving you could never be a sin and anyone worthy of your love cannot be sent anywhere but to the pearly white gates. You're my strength Steve, my reason for living and the courage I need to face the world. You're the force that keeps me going and the reason I haven't burnt myself out. You've saved me, time and again and there's no way I can thank you enough for that. What I can do is try and make it up to you for the rest of my life. Let me take care of you, let me adore you and let me love you. You're my angel Stevie and for the rest of my days, let me worship you as one. 

So, Steve Rogers, will you do me the honor of marrying me and becoming Steve Rogers Barnes?"

He doesn't say anything, just pulls Bucky in for a kiss. A kiss that seals their future together. A kiss that means forever to them. A kiss that means eternity in love. 

From now, the fireworks are not for Steve, it for the both of them. It's not about celebrating Steve Rogers, it's about celebrating them, their love.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first work on Ao3 and I'm super excited. Please let me know if you like it. And find me on tumblr under the same name.
> 
> You'll also find me on wattpad, again under the same name cause I've like zero imagination.


End file.
